I get an idea and click on Chris and Matt’s accounts. They’ve both posted pics from last night, both hollering about an epic show and after party. There are no females in any of the pictures which makes the cold squeeze on my heart lessen a fraction, but there is definitely a drink in the form of brown liquor in Jack’s hand.
I toss my phone back down on the floor and put my head in my hands as I try to reason with myself. Jack tried to call last night. He doesn’t look conscious in the picture. But damnit. He was at this party, surrounded by half naked women who he had to know wanted him, and yet he stayed and got tossed enough to pass out on a bed with all of those bimbos milling around. That part breaks my heart. Finished with their food, the dogs both come over and sit on either side of me, both sniffing at me and looking at me with concern in their adorable brown eyes. I put an arm around both of them, and let them nuzzle and love on me for a few minutes, before the kitchen floor feels like it’s grinding away at my tailbone. I slowly push myself up and stand on shaky legs. I dump the rest of my coffee in the sink, my stomach twisted in so many knots the thought of consuming anything makes me queasy. The shakes follow me to the bathroom where I start the shower, climb in, and hold myself under the spray.
26
Jack
Week-old shit, rotting in the tread of an eighteen-wheeler’s tire after an all-night haul on the interstate… that’s what I feel like as I stomp onto the bus after speed brushing my teeth, splashing water on my face and cramming everything in my bag. I don’t remember much after my third drink of the night, and I can tell why by the pounding in my head that feels like a twenty-inch subwoofer. I grab a bottle of water out of the mini fridge and down it on my way to my bunk where I immediately grab my phone out of my pocket and sit down. All my foggy brain can think about is calling Mayzie, but all I get is a dark, dead screen. Perfect. I pull my charger out of my bag and plug it into the bunk’s outlet to charge. Unable to take being vertical anymore, I pull last night’s shirt over my head and lay back to shuck my cargos off. I lay back on the pillow and close my eyes. Hangovers don’t usually happen to me, so I can only guess at how much I had to drink last night. I hate that I don’t remember anything and it makes me feel uneasy as I very restlessly doze off.
When I wake up, it’s to the feel of the bus rocking me. I have no clue when we got on the road. Once I blink a few times, I immediately grab my phone and power it on. When the home screen comes up, I see that it’s two hours later and that I have a text message from Ron, but no texts or voicemails from Mayzie. Damnit. That’s not a good sign. The tour extension was tough news on both of us, and I hope she’s not withdrawing. I open the text message from Ron to see that it’s an image with only the word ‘EXPLAIN’ in all caps.
My head almost hits the ceiling of the bunk when the picture comes into focus. Who the FUCK is that, and what the hell am I doing?! My breath lodges in my throat as I try to fathom if this can actually be real. This can’t be real. That can’t be me, I would never do that! What the fuck, am I passed out? I have to be… I have to be passed out. All these thoughts and questions are going through my head at rapid fire, making it want to explode. I set the phone down and take a moment to try to steady my breathing and slow my brain down. I press the heel of my hand into my forehead, trying to get a grip before picking my phone back up. I steal myself and take another look at the picture. Fuck. It’s me. But I am passed out and have no clue who that bitch is that’s laying on me, or why she thought she could do this. My wedding ring never comes off, which tells me whoever she is, she doesn’t care, which pisses me off even more. I am seriously starting to lose it. There are so many emotions going through me right now - anger, shame, disbelief, and one more is beginning to take hold of me. The cold, dark hand of dread is reaching inside of me and grabbing a hold of my gut as I think of my wife. If Ron is sending me this, then the whole world has probably seen it, her included. Oh my God, I can’t even begin to think what she might be thinking. If the picture was of her and some dude, I’d be self-destructing right now. I think I’m going to be sick.
Without thinking, I dial Mayzie’s cell. The smart thing to do might be to think of what to say first, but I don’t care, I’m desperate to hear her voice and make it okay. I have to let her know, right this second, that she’s all I’m thinking about right now; all I care about. The phone rings and rings until going to voicemail.
“Sweetheart, it’s me. Please call me as soon as you can, I need to talk to you… I love you. More than anything. Please call.” I hang up and send her a text too, then I lay back, wondering when she’ll call… if she’ll call, and how I could fuck up so bad.
Mayzie
Jack’s name flashes across my phone screen for the fifth time in two hours. I’ve spent the day running away from my tears. My heart broke over and over, every time I thought of that picture, and they’d come flooding from behind my eyes. I’d let a few out, but when it started going too far, I’d move. I just can’t let myself fall into a full-on cry. Crying, to me, is like quicksand. I’m always afraid to start, thinking I’ll never be able to stop.
It’s just after one in the afternoon. I spent the first forty minutes after seeing that wretched picture in the shower, followed by sitting on the bed and staring off into space. When I couldn’t take any more of that, I took the dogs on an extra-long walk. That was when the first call came. I had taken my phone out of my back pocket and stared at the screen, unable to bring myself to answer. I wasn’t ready to face this. It felt like if I didn’t address it, then I could ignore it. The thought of turning my phone off crossed my mind, but knowing he was trying to get a hold of me was giving me this microscopically small sense of comfort. It’s like a tiny drop of a soothing balm on the devastating pain that I feel in every bone in my body. I like knowing when and how often he’s reaching out, and even though I didn’t answer, it made me feel connected to him. And oddly, I liked feeling that. I didn’t tap ‘ignore’ either. I didn’t want him to know I was rejecting his call, even though I was and he knew it. I felt as if by not sending him to voicemail, I was in some weird way communicating with him.
I need time.
That’s the message I’m hoping he’s getting as I pick the phone up this time, staring at his name with a picture of us. This has to be one of the worst things, hurting so much because of someone you love so much. He’s left a message each time, but I haven’t listened to them yet. I feel like if I actually hear his voice, I’ll fall apart. When the call goes to my voicemail, I slip back into sadness and set the phone back down on the coffee table. I’m sitting on the couch on this chilly afternoon, just letting HGTV burble in front of me without actually absorbing anything. I don’t know what to do with myself. I need noise, because the silence is deafening. My eyes are tired and sore, and chamomile tea with honey is all my stomach can manage, but it’s at least calmed me a little.
An hour and a half, and four more calls from Jack go by before I decide I have to get some work done. I’ve gone the whole day thinking there is no way that I can focus, but I have to try. I get up and set up my laptop in the nook and put the kettle on to make more tea. My phone rings on the counter, but this time, it’s Erin’s name on the display. I swipe the screen to take the call, answering with a quiet “Hi.” I don’t even recognize my own voice; it sounds so dead and hollow.
“Hi, chick. How are you doing?”
“I’m… not good,” I say, blowing out a breath with my honesty.
“And I don’t need to ask why. Oh, sweetie. I know it doesn’t look good, and I wish I’d gotten the chance to tell you about this part, I just didn’t think you’d have to deal with it until much later in the game.”
“What do you mean, ‘this part’?” I ask, confused.
“The part where desperate bitches think if they get a piece of your husband, they’ll get their fifteen minutes.”
“You think that’s what’s going on here?” I ask hopefully. I already know it in my heart that it is, but I yearn
to hear someone else say it. Annie and I talked earlier, and she feels the same way, but Erin is actually there in the fray, making her opinion somewhat more valid.
“Yeah, I do. I know it. I was only at that party for the first couple of hours, but he wanted nothing to do with any females. He talks about you non-stop, and I just saw him on his way to sound check. He’s a wreck, Maze.” She gives me a second so I can let that sink in, and my heart gives a squeeze. “And besides, I’ve been through it. Trust me, that’s exactly what’s going on here.”
“Wait, you have?”
“Think back to 2013.”
“I can’t think of anything,” I say, after searching my brain for a few seconds.
“Oh, look at that, you can’t remember,” she says, sarcastically. “The picture that was all over the web of George coming out of that hotel room with that girl who was buttoning up her shirt.”
“Oh my God,” I say, the realization hitting me like a two by four. “I remember that! How did you guys get through that?” I ask in total bewilderment. That photo had looked bad. George totally looked like he’d just hooked up with some skeezy piece of trash.
“I lost my damn mind. My heart shattered, I was exploding with rage, and I thought my life was over,” she says, and I can practically see her shrugging. “I lost my shit for a day and a half, refused to talk to George, and then Nick called me.” Nick is the drummer for The Shock Wave. “What the cameras didn’t catch was that Nick was in that room too, and the ho came on to both of them. Drunk off her ass, she undid her top and tried to force her boobs on them. It did nothing for George but piss him off and he escorted her out. That’s the part the cameras caught, and all anyone cared about.” This is a serious load of knowledge she just dropped on me. Who knew, pictures really do only tell half the story.
“I don’t mean to overstep, but how do you know Nick wasn’t covering for George?”
“Oh, that guy had no reason to lie to me. I was not his favorite person at that time. If our marriage ended, he wouldn’t have been too crushed about it. But George was hurting, and he cared about that, so…” she trails off, not feeling the need to say more. The pain that’s been consuming me all day releases just a little. “And the thing is, Jack is brand new to this scene. He hasn’t learned how to put his guard up yet. But trust me, he will after this.”
“Erin… you warned me how hard this would be… but, God, this really hurts. I can’t believe how much I miss him and how much this hurts me.” The tears are threatening me again, and I try to sniff them back. My feelings are so conflicted. The one person I want right now is the one I’m hurting over.
“You need some time to absorb this, I get it. But do yourself a favor and don’t let this go too long. I think you should talk to Jack, even if it’s just to tell him you need some time. If not for yourself, do it for me,” she says. I take in a deep breath and slowly let it out through pursed lips.
“Okay…” I answer.
Jack
It’s late afternoon, and we’ve just finished the worst sound check of the tour. Everything was working fine, but every minute was painful. Every minute that goes by that I’m not talking to Mayzie, this feeling pulls me down a little further. I kept my phone on me all through the check, and I yank it out of my back pocket now, to find no notifications. I swear I can feel it laughing at me. Shut up, asshole. I make my way straight back to the bus, and am relieved to find it empty.
I sit down and send Mayzie a FaceTime request, and though it takes a few seconds, to my surprise, she answers. But the sight on my screen completely wrecks me. She’s in an old t-shirt, her hair is piled up on her head, and her eyes are puffy. She’s so fucking beautiful, but she’s hurting. She’s sitting in the breakfast nook, so she must be working. She rests her chin on the hand that’s not holding the phone, and she looks exhausted. Drained. She doesn’t say anything; it’s like she’s got nothing left in her and it totally guts me. I’ve never felt so useless and helpless as I do in this moment.
“Sweetheart,” I say, searching her face for how she might be feeling, being face-to-face with me. It’s hard because she’ll barely look at me. “Hey,” I prod her cautiously. She takes a deep breath.
“Hey,” she says back.
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you since yesterday baby, where’ve you been?”
“I, uh, didn’t want to talk.” She looks restless, and is looking everywhere but at the screen.
“I don’t blame you at all, I don’t. I have fucked up royally, I know. I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am. I hate myself right now, Maze. I didn’t mean for any of that to happen, you know that right?”
“I know,” she says shakily, looking down at the table top.
“You know I’d never hurt you. You’re everything to me.”
“I know that,” she says, her eyes still downcast. “But somehow, here I am anyway… hurting.”
“Baby, I want to make it right. I don’t want you hurting. It was a stupid mistake brought on by too much alcohol and things went to shit. That’s not an excuse, I know that. There is no excuse, and I fucking hate that my actions have hurt you so bad. I want to take it all back.”
“I can’t fault you for the drinking. It’s just that… situation? You’re at this party with all these girls; these girls that are throwing themselves at you. They want you. And they’re there, and I’m not.” She’s weakly waving her hand around as she describes the scenario. “And seeing one of them lying next to you…” her eyes get glassy as they fill with tears and those last few words barely make it out of her mouth. I realize now that she’s restless because she’s trying not to cry.
“Baby, baby look at me. Please.” She’s taking another deep breath, and still looking down. Fuck, this conversation cannot happen like this. I need to be with her. I try again. “Mayzie, I’m begging you, look at me.” She wipes one of her eyes and looks at me. “I know how bad that looked and I don’t blame you one bit for how you’re reacting. But you know I don’t give a flying fuck about any woman but you. I don’t want a thing to do with anyone else.”
“But the rest of the world isn’t thinking that right now, are they?” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. “You were at that party, getting wasted with random females all around you. It sends the message that I’m… inconsequential,” she says with another wave of her hand. “To anyone paying attention, it looked like I wasn’t on your mind.” She props the phone against something and places her elbows on the table to put her head in her hands. And she’s back to not looking at me.
“Listen to me. I love you more than my own life, and I’m sorry as hell that it didn’t show last night. The truth is, I was missing you. I was missing my wife. A couple of drinks made it easier, and then I don’t even know what happened the rest of the night. That’s on me. I was in a situation where I damn sure knew I needed to be careful and I wasn’t. I will never be able to apologize enough for that.”
“I know, Jack. It just… hurts me. To see what I saw, it hurts so bad.” Tears are falling down her face now as she leans into her hand, trying to wipe them away. Fuck!
“I fucking hate this, Maze. I should be there to hold you.” I stand up and start pacing with my phone. This is fucking killing me. The most important person in the world to me is hurting and falling apart before my eyes and I can’t even touch her. “Fuck this, I’m coming home,” I say. What’s going on right now is all kinds of wrong, and being with her where I can touch her and hold her is the only way to make this right.
“Don’t you dare,” she says, finally looking at me.
“I can’t stand this anymore, Mayzie! I don’t even care about playing, I just want to be with you. I want to fix this-”
“Jack William Krasinski,” she interrupts. Oh, fuck. “You will not throw ten years out the window because things are messed up between us right now!”
“It’s a band, Mayzie. You’re my wife!”
“And I’m upset,” she shrugs, and sniffs. �
��It’s part of life. It’s part of love. It’s part of relationships. You can’t just quit the band, let down your friends, and ditch the chance of a lifetime every time I get upset. I didn’t want to leave, but I did so that you guys would have a chance to get somewhere. Don’t you dare piss it away.”
“Mayzie, baby…” I just want to get to her and talk to her for real. Face to face, in the same room. That is what would fix this, and it’s the one thing I can’t do.
“Look, I’m wiped out. We’ll talk tomorrow, ok?” She says, getting up.
“No, baby come on…”
“I love you. Get your ass on that stage tonight.” And she’s gone, she disconnected. I clutch my phone and press it to my forehead in aggravation. It takes everything in me to not throw it against the wall. I sit back and run a hand through my hair, trying to figure out what to do. And then I realize; she just said she loves me.
27
Mayzie
I burst through the door of Studio #1, throw my bag down and sync my phone to the sound system. With my hard rock playlist on shuffle, I take a drink of water from my bottle and do a few stretches, but not nearly as many as I should. I just want to get moving. For some people, feelings like sadness, pain and loneliness are a part of life that should be felt, and they embrace it so they can move forward. For me, they are all a symbol of doom and I run from them out of fear that once they take hold of me, they’ll never let go. If I cry, I submit myself to them, and they will rule me with no end in sight. This is why I don’t allow myself to succumb, why I always busy myself with cleaning or dancing. I channel it, with the hopes that the problem will resolve before I have to face the feelings it brings.
See Her (Turn it Up Book 1) Page 24